Tag: social movement

we’ve been through a lot of time in the desert
we’ve been through the hollow barrel of a pistol
we’ve been through a seance
a table of writers stirring over dotting a question mark
we’ve been lost amongst ourselves
robbed apartments, gutted houses, fumigated homes
dead lawns, sprayed down by chemical agents of chaos
we were hollow. we were stuffed.
we paraded around in ambulances.

we’ve been through a lot of time barefoot on the living room floor
we’ve been through smoky headlights in new york city
we’ve been bruised, and bloodied up
for spitting on the sidewalk
we’ve been left with pens and notebooks in psych wards
we’ve been pressed for time, energy and money
we’ve found our sunflower and allowed it to wilt

now i’m not so certain of what we are
we’re some cosmic whirlpool of our grandfather’s dust
intentionally unintentional violent reactions of peace
we are made with metal bones and eyes like pixels
we are lighting the kerosene rope so the past can’t climb up after us
we are drowning out the television in our dirty bathwater
we are rebuilding our houses with more tolerance between the bricks
we are putting down hardwood floors over our burial plots
we are burning down bridges because we can swim across oceans
we are here to be labeled by you, dear future
we will try to be kind if you promise to do your best to be

this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
they swim through the sound, they pierce their swollen skin with the needles of toxic ideology and the dance music of devils
the fires that burn in guts like drugs, like the fizzle of disease, like the acidic aftertaste of childhood but still all the red orange yellows and the green blue indigos glow on their faces racing for less sleep and more dilemma
we crave the taste of gravel, the god twisting turn tables, the agents of social murder, the proprietors of sore bodies and the come down from ecstatic heights
this is the world that we duplicate and spin on table tops in smoky lounges the size of problematic arenas, this is the kiss between morbid girls and suicidal boys
what we have on our hands is nuclear creation, to counterbalance nuclear destruction
this is windows down, hair blowing in faces, the bass blasting like super soakers into the hollow universe of three in the morning and we make birthquakes that everyone feels in their bones and veins but god, if most of us are just too numb to even want to notice

this is the sound of the chaos that lives within the opium dens of the minds of the modern day pubescent creatures who crawl across midnight streets
‘together we can face that rock and roll’, together we can chase radioactive unicorns to our destinies as demi-gods of a new hope for a better reality and a truer love
and today our parents hate us for it, but one day our ancestors will lift us to the technicolor sky and stare in awe as we present to them our magnum opus, our thunder and lightning show